


50 Shades of Trump

by NicePantsMan



Category: Donald Trump - Fandom
Genre: 2016 Presidential Election, 50 Shades of Grey Parody, Dom/sub, F/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Reader has a vagina, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Smut, This Is STUPID, Trust Issues, presidential smut, we'll see how this goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 04:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5854288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicePantsMan/pseuds/NicePantsMan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You had never planned for it to be this way, but fate aligned in the form of a new internship and a chance encounter with one of New York's finest. After all, how could someone with this much "prominence" notice you anyway? But how far will you take this new-found romance, and what will you lose in place of it? Who, really, can you trust?</p>
<p>Ride with me on the journey to more embarrassment. You're an intern working for Trump. No kiddos allowed. You know how 50 Shades goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stumped for the Trump

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Trump Zone. I got bored and thought this would be a good idea. First chapter is a bit short but it'll pick up momentum soon... Hopefully.
> 
> Peace and Love- NSB

This was it: the moment you’d been waiting years for. The cold air chilled your spine as you stood out on Fifth Avenue, with a titan of a building looming over you.

                        _My very first internship… at Trump Tower. I’ve finally made it._

To say that success came easily to you was all too far from the truth. You had grown up in a rural area (sadly without a small loan of a million dollars), and worked tirelessly to get to New York: the greatest city in the world. Nothing could stop you now, not even the fact that you were working for the Donald himself.

You really had nothing against the guy (I mean, he gave you a job for heaven’s sake!), but his presence in the media hadn’t exactly portrayed him as the nicest of guys. Even when you had watched Celebrity Apprentice, you knew the guy was a gigantic jerk at heart.

_Oh well, as long as I never have to come in contact with him, I should be fine… Right?_

            Suddenly, you feel someone slam into you, pushing you headfirst towards the pavement. You have accepted your fate all too clearly until you manage to steer your collision into another person. You stop dead in your tracks, causing the other person to only shift their weight. Looking over your shoulder, you see a man in his 30’s, hair slicked back and spewing expletives in your direction. Still shaken from the fall, his words sound muted, but you manage to decipher that he is furious you got in his way. Your attention is then turned to the man you are leaning on, clenching his suit coat like a nervous cat. The detail of the suit material is immaculate: black as midnight with a subtle, thin pinstripe. Still, the material is softer than anything you’ve felt before. You couldn’t begin to imagine the thread count on it. A slight cough is emitted from the owner of the suit, coming into view in the sunlight.

            A bright, golden tan.

            Pure, sand-colored hair swept to the side.

            The aroma of pure, indistinguishable capitalism.

            A face more stern and stoic than a brick wall.

            You were leaning up against none other than your new boss: Donald Trump.

            A beet-red blush encompasses your face as you throw yourself as far away from him as possible. You stare down towards his freshly shined shoes, the back of your neck steaming. Now, you are able to hear what the younger man is yelling.

            “YOU DUMB BITCH! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO THIS IS?!” he screams, “NOT TO MENTION THAT YOUR LITTLE STUNT ALMOST CAUSED _ME_ TO FALL! HOW DARE YOU!”

            “Mr. Trump, sir, u-umm-m-, I-“ you begin to sputter, “I didn’t see you two around and I am terribly sorry for my recklessness. Regarding your colleage, I-“

            With his hand raised, Trump stops you, shifting his gaze over to the young man.

            “Eric, that’s enough.” and then waived him on in the direction of the towers.

            “I’m so, so sorry sirs! I’ll pay for any damage caused! Please!” you cry out.

            It’s no use, seeing they’ve already disappeared. You begin to proceed through the front doors, waiting for another painfully awkward encounter.

                        _Well, here’s to the first day. What else could happen?_

 


	2. In a Lump of Trump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get some coffee and meet your new boss. That's totally it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor reader, it only gets worse from here, right? 
> 
> *Currently looking up Trump rhymes instead of doing important things. Go me.- NSB

            Despite all that had happened in those few short moments, this was still your first day; you still had to work. Shuffling awkwardly through the colossal revolving doors, you could only think about your intense hatred of the things.

_There’s no purpose to these at all! When you think about the time wasted for this dumb aesthetic choice, you end up with way more effort than needed! You’d think that smart businessmen would consider this before they-_

            As relevant and timely as this rant is, you can’t help but remember the catastrophe that ensued the last time you talked to yourself like this. Maybe, you decided, you’ll write a story about this later. It’s what the people want.

            The lobby of Trump Tower is gorgeous. Dim lights sparkle, sending faint rays of light across the sepia-toned atmosphere. The marble walls and floor are polished to perfection, showcasing your reflection clearly below you. Everywhere you turn, there are escalators and elevators, ready to ascend you higher on the path of more success. Even though this lobby itself was probably worth more than your entire hometown, it wasn’t overdone at all. Clean lines and muted colors gave a refreshing sense of minimalism, a stark contrast to the oversaturated dynamic of the Manhattan streets you had navigated through all morning. Despite all of this, you looked up and saw the most beautiful sight of all: STARBUCKS, located conveniently near the entrance.

Already rehearsing your order, you glance over towards the lobby’s receptionist. She responds by flashing you a sympathetic, yet embarrassed smirk.

She saw _everything._

 

Since you had a little time before your shift, you decided to hop in line and grab some coffee. You already knew the correct order to say:

 _1 Grande mocha. No whip. Soymilk please._ _My name is ______._

Although you were a confident and competent force of nature, reciting your order to the barista always gave you a surge of anxiety. Maybe it was because they always reversed the order of questions. Maybe it was because you always felt rushed. Maybe it was because you hated saying your name and always blanked when they asked you. Regardless, it was an issue that you could never prepare for, and would rather not deal with. You had some time though, seeing as how the line was unusually long ahead of you. Taking a break from your rehearsal, your mind thought back to Trump. How screwed were you? He didn’t seem that mad, just annoyed at the awkwardness of the situation. At least you didn’t hold on longer than you did…

_That Eric guy though, was that his son? The dude seems pissed off by my existence. I’d better try to steer clear of that guy from now on._

            “NEEEEEEXT!!!!” the barista yelled. This causes you to snap back to reality, noticing that the entire line has been held back as a result of your introspection. You have to order now, and make it quick.

            “Y-yesss, ummm….. Iiii’d like a…. mocha!” you sputter out.

            “What size, m’am?” the barista said, annoyed.

            “Umm, Grande please-“ you pause, “Oh! And with soy!”

            The barista sighs loudly, “Can I get a name please?”

            “UM_____.” you interject. Crap. You said “um”. You’re never supposed to say “um”.

            The wait is surprisingly short and the drink is received in no time. But sure enough, inscribed on that glorious red cup is what the barista thought to be your name: “UM____.” She literally thought that instinctive “um” was the beginning of your name. Excellent.

                        _At least I’ve gotten more than my fair share of awkwardness out of the way today._

_All I have to do now is just do basic filing and get to know the others in the office._

            The elevator doors opened and you were greeted with your new office space, filled with ergonomic chairs, mahogany tables, and lots of friendly workers that were ready to greet you. One woman notices your awestruck expression and immediately knows your place.

            “Oh, are you our new intern? I’m Jan. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

            “Thank you so much! And yes, my name is ______. Are you the one who had offered to take me on a tour earlier in that email?” you ask.

            “Your halfway right. I was simply dictating for my manager. He’ll be showing you around very soon.” she confesses, “In fact, here he is now!”

            You turn around, only to have your heart plummet out of your chest. Standing behind you was none other than Eric Trump.

            “Well well, I had no idea my new intern was that nuisance from earlier. This is too rich.” he sneers, “Looks like I’m going to have a lot of fun being your new boss.”

             


	3. One Grump Trump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having Eric as a boss is the worst, but what happens when you confront the problem with none other than the OG Trump?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, people are actually liking this fic? It warms my heart to see how a dumb concept has evolved so much!  
> I know you've all been waiting, smut is ahead!
> 
> And also I made a tumblr! Come show it some love! 
> 
> http://niceshirtbro.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thanks for being awesome! -NSB

_Eric couldn’t be that bad, right? I mean, sure, the man is really nasty. No one is truly EVIL though, right?_

            That’s what you had thought only seconds before Eric slammed his fist into your coffee cup. The glorious mocha went flying across the room, soaking deep into the white carpet. And your outfit. Eric glared over at you, giving you a grin so horrendous that it would make the Grinch soil his non-existent pants.

            “Clean this up, bitch. Everything.” Eric barked, “If I see even one bit of a stain on this new carpet, I’ll get Dad to fire you _SO_ quick.” He glanced over your stained clothes, a hint of lechery in his eye. “And have fun dealing with that mess as well.”

            You wanted to cry. You wanted to run out, ashamed. You couldn’t.

If scrubbing the carpet was how you would keep this job, then so be it. There was nothing left in your hometown, so this was your only option. You got to work quickly, the first goal being to locate some carpet cleaner. As expansive and luxurious as Trump Tower was, there was not a _single_ place to buy cleaning items. It took an hour of running frantically through the streets of New York, desperately searching for something, anything. Finally, you found a small “Mom ‘n Pop” shop that just happened to have one can of cleaner in the corner. By the time you got back to the Tower, you surmised that the stain should be in just the right condition to begin treatment.

            It took forever, but the stain was finally out. You were actually pretty darn impressed with how well it had turned out. However, this victory was short, as you turned to find a desk full of paperwork. A note attached read, “File this. –E”. Awesome.

            By the end of the day, you had nearly everything done. Only a few more files left. You were pleased as Eric entered the room, gesturing towards your empty desk as you continued to prove your competency. He stopped, almost shocked, and then did the unspeakable…

            His wrist flicked downward.

            His cup tipped.

            _No._

            In the spot you had just cleaned, the coffee stain was instantly replaced. Your heart plummeted and tears began to well up in your eyes. This was it. You were done.

            “As much as I like having you at my beck and call,” he began, “I think I’ll begin looking for a new assistant. Someone who speaks less, doesn’t get in the way, and shows some damn respect.”

_Jeez, what was this guy’s damage?!_

            “Fired. Get out _NOW_.” he laughed.

            And then it happened, a knee jerk reaction. Hair messy and clothes disheveled, you pushed right past Eric. You stomped all the way to the elevator and punched in the button for the 26th floor. Without even thinking, you knew right where to go. It had been printed on a plain white business card in your Welcome briefing.

            _Donald J. Trump, floor 26      by appointment only_

            You jumped off the elevator and barreled past the receptionist, who was demanding you state your business and wait your turn. You didn’t care; you were already getting fired. You shove the doors open and see him: a gilded buzzard in a warm, orange light. An exotic car that smelled of fresh leather. You were here. It was him.

            “Mr. Trump sir!” the receptionist panted, “I have no idea WHO this woman is but she got past me before I could-“

            “She’s fine, Samantha.” he spoke, “Let her speak, and then I’ll decide if I need to take further action.”

            The receptionist, Samantha, shot you a perturbed look and huffed out the doors, clearly bothered by this act of mercy from the big boss. His focus turned to you, piercing through your heart, examining your very being.

            “The Donald will see you now.”

            Although slightly off-guard, you were still fueled with rage, and duly began your rant.

            “Mr. Trump, sir, I don’t normally do this, but your son is putting me through HELL. He has made extra work for the sake of watching me suffer, WHICH I completed very efficiently, and he still had the fucking gall to fire me. This was my first day, I offered to get him coffee, I stayed in my lane, and I even walked 7 blocks to find carpet cleaner after he smacked coffee out of my hand!”

            “Wait,” Donald piped up, “you mean the new, white carpets?! Tell me they’re okay!”

            “They were. Any traces of a stain had been erased before Eric decided to fire me and spill coffee on it again.” you admitted.

            “Well, judging by the look of your clothes, you are definitely telling the truth.” he responded, “The only people who lie are losers, and I do _NOT_ tolerate losers. Take it as a compliment that I’m still talking to you.”

            “It’s an honor sir, truly.” you gasp, flustered beyond belief. “But regardless, I’m still fired. Eric made that extremely clear.”

            “We’ll see about that tomorrow. Listen, you’ve had a rough day, and you need to go home.” he said, “If you were upset enough to run up here and bitch to me, I don’t think you’d be very useful as a worker right now.”

            _Damn, he doesn’t soften the blow at all, does he?_

            “Thank you so much Mr. Trump! You don’t know how greatful-“

            “But!” he interjected with his penchant for interruption, “You honestly look like shit right now. I can’t have anyone see an employee leaving like that! It would cause a PR catastrophe!” Great, he noticed the more than obvious stains covering you.

            “Luckily, my darling daughter Ivanka just had some concepts for her new women’s line made up the other day.” Donald gestured toward the rack of clothing in the corner of his office, “Feel free to wear one home, but have the decency to dry-clean it before you return it.”

You nodded, currently at a loss for words. Sprinting over to peruse the suits, you found a gorgeous cream colored pencil skirt and jacket with gold accents. But suddenly, you noticed something.

            “Um, sir, there’s no place to change?”

            “Right here.” he beckoned, “Now.”

            Instantly an array of red flags popped up in your head. This was sexual harassment! You couldn’t do this! Right? But then again, he was one of the most powerful men in the world, and he was saving your ass right now. Plus, you couldn’t hide the fact that you felt an odd connection to this old, fuzzy peach of a man.

            Slowly, you began to strip, choosing your top first. Thank goodness you had worn a matching bra and panties; you felt semi-presentable at the least. Slipping out of your skirt, you caught the stare of Trump, his cocky, hangdog expression making you even more jittery. You felt as though you were being thoroughly examined, unable to escape the gaze of the Donald. Lingering for just a moment, you pulled on the new suit as fast as you could, remembering the task at hand. One you were finished, he spoke up.

            “Tomorrow. Noon. We’re having a meeting.”

            And that was all he said before dismissing you.

            Things just got a lot more… interesting?

             


	4. Trump Wants Your Rump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trump outlines the further details of your position. More stuff happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back! 
> 
> Visit me at http://niceshirtbro.tumblr.com/
> 
> Kind words are welcome kiddos!

HELL YES.   
You danced in the streets and cheered at the top of your lungs in glee. Not only had you managed to keep your job, but you had been PROMOTED. Well, kinda. You were still unsure about how you felt as Trump had clearly made advances towards you. Well, you think he made advances, but why? What did this billionaire possibly see in you? Regardless, you’ll take it. Anything beats being in the same room as Eric.   
You continue to prance back to your tiny New York Apartment, full of pride and hope. “I definitely deserve takeout tonight.” you declare, dialing the number of your favorite Chinese restaurant with the biggest plans to ‘treat yo self’. So you may drop $30 on food just for yourself, but hey, at least you have some leftovers. Probably.  
The next morning, your nerves are completely wracked. All night, you kept exploring the thought that Trump may want more than you as his secretary. Of course this was probably far from the truth, seeing as how his wife is literally a foreign model. What could he possibly have seen in you? This thought makes the sinister old orange man seem a lot more appealing, no, enthralling. Whatever. You don’t have any more time to explore these thoughts because you’ve made your way once again to the front of Trump Towers. Clutching Ivanka’s dry-cleaned suit in one hand, you began to compare the fabrics of it and your current clothing. You had worn one of your own blazers today, its tweed fabric with gold buttons made you feel like a million bucks. If only…  
24\. 25. 26. That’s my stop. A smile crept across your face. There was something so refreshing about being all the way up here, with the sun leaking through the windows just right. You are greeted by Samantha at the reception desk, with an expression of pure disgust. Awkwardly, you fake a smile and bolt past. You’re gonna have to get used to seeing that every morning.  
Just on time, you slip past the massive doors to Trump’s office, catching him off-guard.   
“Excuse me missy! You’re supposed to wait until I call on you to enter!” the disturbed man cries.  
You muster up enough courage to faintly mutter, “That’s a load of bullshit.”  
“WHAT was that?!” Trump bellows, with an angry yet interested snarl on his face.  
You clear your throat and adjust your posture, “I said, that’s a load of bullshit. Why can’t I just come in if I’m your assistant?”  
Donald’s eyebrows raise. Double chin forms. Tiny mouth drops into a pleased expression. He shakes around for a few minutes, almost like he’s trying one of those new Snapchat filters. Trump then recoils back into that familiar, yet oh-so-smug smirks.  
“Well done.” he chortles. “But enough of this. We can’t waste time. Let’s go over your new position.”  
You gulped as you began to anticipate all of the potential, problematic things that this position could entail. Crap, did you want this position to entail those things?  
“Ok Dollface, listen to what I’m about to say, because I’m never gonna fuckin’ repeat it again. Your main job is to do whatever the hell I tell you to. You’re my personal assistant, so I want you to behave with at least some decorum. You gettin’ this?” he said.  
You nod your head rapidly, eagerly trying not to displease the Donald. This doesn’t sound too bad.  
“That means if I ever get any… cravings… you’ll need to help me out.” Your eyes widen in horror, and he must notice this, because he quickly reassures you. “Doll, relax, I won’t ask that much of you. Do remember that I’m a respectful businessman.” He begins to go off on a tangent, “Why, I built this company completely on my own, with only these two hands and a small loan of a million dollars.”  
You never knew what a suave, ambitious businessman he was. And so responsible!  
“Sugartits (that was a new one), I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, all right?” he leans in close to you, and you feel the slightest blush on your cheeks, “I make the deals, and I get to tell the losers when they’re fired, got it?!”   
This almost sounded menacing now, but you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit tingly. Why were you feeling like this? This was gross. You hated it, but also loved it?  
“So in short, I love how comfortable you are around me, but don’t abuse that privilege, ok kiddo? After all, we don’t want my wonderful wife Melania to worry about us.” he said with an upturned smile and slightly lidded eyes.  
Your face was beet red now. “I-I-I think I’m g-gonna go sort through some paperwork right now, um, b-b-boss…” You scrambled to back away and grab something to work on.  
The following afternoon consisted of you trying to distance yourself from Trump as much as you could with being in the same room together. A desk in the furthest corner of the room was now claimed as your own. When asked why it was mandatory for you to remain in the same office as him, Trump responded with, “I can’t putcha’ to much use if you’re not here for my beck and call, right?” Well. That summed it up.  
After a while, The Donald sauntered up to your desk. “Okay, _______, I’m not a monster. I have to give you a lunch break. This aint ‘Cheuyna’, you know!” he chortled.   
Wait, was he trying to say ‘China’? Why does he say it so weirdly?  
“So,” he continued, “take an hour. No more, no less.”  
You thanked him graciously and began to head out the door, but not before Trump interjected once more.  
“Oh, and _______?” he started, “Eat something that’s healthy. I don’t want you losin’ that sweet ass.”  
Your eyes widened and you shot out the door, Trump’s laughter cackling in the background. Samantha looked confused at the proceedings, but somehow seemed to enjoy your misery as you slipped into the elevator as quickly as possible.  
As you walked outside, a terrible commotion rattled over at a hotdog stand down the street. As you looked closer, the situation became crazier: there was an old man, fighting the owner of the stand…


	5. A Trump Tower Bump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On your lunch break, you intervene in a scuffle between Bernie Sanders and the owner of a hot dog stand. Later, you console Trump and give him an idea you may regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK!  
> Fam, I am so sorry I had to make you wait this long. Finals are terrible right now and I've barely had time to think, let alone write. Still, my classes are almost over, so expect many more chapters in December!
> 
> And yes, the President Elect results have already come in, so my hopes to keep this updated with current events has miserably failed. However, I feel like we all need some levity after the election, so I will keep writing. I've got some great ideas for a certain VP's character development... >:)
> 
> Again, enjoy the chapter. If you have any feedback, suggestions, or ways to make this fic stupider, drop a comment below or visit my tumblr:
> 
> http://niceshirtbro.tumblr.com/

 

            You ran over to the hotdog stand as everything started to come into view. The owner of the stand looked visibly distressed as an old man was fighting him off with the stand’s umbrella.

            “THiS is an OUTRAGE!” the elderly fighter yelled, “WE SHALL not LiVE in a COUNTRY WHERE tha hOt DOGS are OVAH THRee DOLLAS!”

            He was yelling in this sing-songy tone as he pumped his fist in the air towards the owner of the stand. “What’s going on here?!” you exclaim.

            “This old fucker just started screaming at me because I upped my hot dog prices to $6.50!” the owner cried, “He usually eats here every day at this time, and I’ve never seen this outburst before!”

            You stop dead in your tracks. “Really? $6.50 for a hotdog?”

            The owner smirks. “Yeah, have you never seen that travel vlog where the girl talks about how affordable that $6 sandwich is? I’m getting’ robbed if I sell my dogs for $2.50 a piece!”

            Your fist clenches. You can’t believe the injustice you’re witnessing right now. _$6.50 for a hot dog in New York?! Charging that much for a staple of so many people’s diets?!_ Without thinking, you grab a fork and turn on the stand owner. “This is an injustice!” you yell.

            You look down to see the old man beaming at you, the kindest smile spread across his face. Then, he gets fired up.

            “THA GrEEdy ONE PUHCENT will NOT WIN!” he screams, “WE. ARE. The NINETY-NINE!”

            The two of you spent the next 15 minutes protesting the unjust hotdog prices until the stand owner, embarrassed from his customers running off, agreed to bring the price down to an even $3. The old man had calmed down as the dollar signs decreased, and was now speaking normally. “It’s definitely not priced for a living wage, but it’s a compromise. Fair enough.”

            You still had about 20 minutes left of your lunch break, so you decided to grab some dogs for the both of you. You couldn’t keep this up though. Your assistant position definitely didn’t pay enough for you to be indulging like this. Upon handing the old man his food, you saw him tear up a little.

            “Sir, are you all right?”

            “Yeah, yeah,” he sniffled, “it just warms my heart to see a young person fighting the establishment like that. What is your name, child?”

            “It’s _______. And yours?”

            “Bernie.” he replied, “Bernie Sanders. Apologies about my harsh tone earlier, I tend to get riled up when I see injustice.”

            You almost choked on your food. **THE** Bernie Sanders? As in the presidential candidate? You were definitely star-struck. Who wouldn’t be after meeting America’s Grandpa, one of the kindest men in history!

            “M-m-Mr. Sanders…. I’m such a huge fan! You’re definitely an inspiration!” you blubbered. Bernie beamed. He looked happy that you even remembered his name, let alone admiring his achievements. While the two of you began to talk politics in a civil manner, you happened to glance down at your watch.

            “SHIT! I’m gonna be late for work if I don’t hurry up!” you exclaimed.

            “That’s what’s awful about this CAPitALISt NIGHTMARE wE LIve iN!” Bernie’s face turned red, but then slowly faded back to its natural state of porcelain as he took a few deep breaths, “Sorry, force of habit. Where do you work, child?”

            “Trump Tower, sir. I’m Mr. Trump’s personal assistant.” you beamed.

            Bernie’s face soon lost all remaining color. His hair seemed to turn even a shade whiter, if that was at all possible. You grew worried for him, but he was unresponsive for a moment. Soon, he leaned in to your shoulder and almost whispered a message to you:

            “That man… Please, child. Please be careful… You don’t know what injustice he’s capable of…”

            “Bernie, I’m so sorry. I know he’s a jerk, but I didn’t have a ton of options-“ you start until Bernie interjects.

            “________, I’m not mad at you. Just please, be careful. I can sense something coming. And it’s YUUUUUGE.”

            You and Bernie agreed to meet up another time, as you ran off to finish your day at work. You felt a little anxious, but Trump wouldn’t put you in any danger, right? You worried all the way to the elevator, and continued to worry up to the 26th floor.

            You had actually managed to get back five minutes ahead of schedule. _I’m totally getting the hang of this position. Trump can’t fire me –or worse- if I’m the best assistant he’s ever had!_ You glance toward Samantha, looking positively enthralled as usual, and get the nonverbal permission to enter that you need. Upon opening the doors you see him, sitting in his desk chair, but swiveled around to where he’s facing the wall of windows behind his desk. Rays of afternoon sunlight glisten on his 100 percent natural comb over, catching flecks of white and blonde shimmering. This was a side of Trump you had never seen before: stoic and unwavering as he gazed out over the Manhattan skyline. You tried to move quietly as to not disturb his deep thought, but you could tell that he already sensed your presence.

            “_________.” he said quietly, “Can I ask ‘ya a question?”

            “Yes, sir. Please go ahead.”

            “At what point do you think a human has reached their peak?”

            “Well, it depends on their definition of success, I think.”

            His voice got even quieter, more somber. “I’ve done it all. Rubbed elbows with celebrities. Been happily married with kids, several times. Become a millionaire.”

            He continued to stare out the window, eyes becoming lidded and facial expression melancholy. “But for what?” he chuckled, “I’ve never done anything actually meaningful.”

            This was a side of Trump you had never seen. He seemed soft. Vulnerable. There was actually something enticing about seeing this lecherous man reduced to a state of uncertainty.

            “Mr. Trump, sir,” you spoke up, “if you’ll have my advice, I’d like to remind you that you are in a perfect position to do whatever you want right now.”

            Trump’s silhouette perked up, “Go on…”

            “Sir, you have more money that most people in the world. You have the resources, connections, and skill to do whatever you want with your life! Donate to charity! Become an advocate! Make your life GREAT again!”

            At that, his expression changed. It seemed as though the gears in his head were turning once more. He gave you a piercing stare, then grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling you in closely. You gave a shriek, surprised at his rash action. An intense blush poured across your face as he continued to pull you closer to his. Your noses could practically touch by now, and you got a chance to examine his facial features as he continued to stare at you. His breath wavered from his constantly agape, ring shaped little mouth. His eyebrows jittered like a field of dying wheat. His beady, scowling eyes made you shiver, either in pleasure or in fear. You prepared yourself for an intense breach of workplace rules, but you were suddenly pushed away.

            “I don’t say ‘dis often,” he began, “b-but… go home early.”

            You scrambled to get your things together, thanking your orange employer over and over again for his generosity. He simply nodded and turned to his folio pad, scribbling down something profound.

            Later that evening, you returned home, ready to make the most of your evening. You couldn’t describe why, but taking some extra care of yourself tonight sounded like a great idea. A few moments later, you were seated in front of your TV, with a box of Chinese takeout on your lap and a charcoal peel on your face. No matter how engaging your favorite shows were though, you couldn’t get Trump out of your head. Your cheeks radiated heat upon thinking about the encounter that happened earlier that evening, but you had to force it out of your head. No matter how badly you wanted to think about the possibilities, you had to remain professional. Unless, however, he broke that barrier first…

            The next morning, you woke refreshed and ready to go. Your Keurig coffee maker squealed as you flipped to the news before getting dressed.

            Suddenly, you saw it.

            Donald.

            In front of Trump tower.

            Among a crowd of people.

            Announcing his entrance into the 2016 Presidential Election.


End file.
